


A Good Use Of Time

by Hambone



Category: Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: M/M, Silly, Spanking, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Teasing, Used to be a Porn Star Trope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-10
Updated: 2014-11-10
Packaged: 2018-02-24 19:31:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2593634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hambone/pseuds/Hambone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bumblebee shirks his duties in a stupid way and Ratchet walks in on it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Good Use Of Time

**Author's Note:**

> Lotta fun here! For anonymous on my blog. Didn't edit too heavily so be wary. Enjoy~!

Late night monitor duty was boring. If anybody knew that, it was Bumblebee. Everyone hated it, but he was the only one with enough ball bearings to speak up about it, which was probably why Prime stuck him on it all the time. Spite was a deadly weapon in the right hands. It was also probably his punishment for playing video games half the time when he was supposed to be scouting or guarding during the day time, and since everyone was in their rooms recharging they would certainly here if he was doing anything but his appointed duties, wouldn’t they.

Bumblebee let them think that. Any bot who had spent as long as they had on Earth and hadn’t yet figured out the miracles of headphones was either too old or a dork, leaving, really, Bumblebee himself with his secrets. Playing video games late at night was still dangerous when he got too absorbed because he would get rowdy, but there was nothing stopping him from taking in the late night television up on the big monitors. Now that they’d gotten their communications with Cybertron and the Elite Guard set back up, there was nothing stopping him from taking in a little raunchy evening show if he so chose, or, if he was feeling especially stupid, a little raunchy raunchiness.

Tonight was one of those nights where he was in the mood to be mad dumb. The day had started with Optimus grousing him out for being late, Ratchet grousing him out for being early, and then Ratchet grousing him out for the third time because he was just in some kind of funk. Young and spirited and sweet as a gas tank full of sugar, Bumblebee was late to associate any catastrophe with his own actions, and he hated being called out when he already know, intimately, that he had screwed up. Ratchet in particular had a loose cannon on his back at all times and Bumblebee would rather take a million pounces from Prowl than have to deal with another cycle of that bag of rust hollering at him. At least Prowl was hot.

Speaking of which, so was Bumblebee. Restlessly he checked and rechecked the hall monitors, standing up and scooting to peer down the hall just in case. Prowl, though he had little reason to be, was sneaky about checking in on Bee, and while it was cycles since they had all disappeared to their respective recharge slabs he could not help but feel a little paranoid. Tapping his fingers against the plating along his thigh as he prepared to scratch the never ending itch, Bumblebee plugged in his headset and switched the main monitor over to the Cybertronian data web. His nerves were quickly soothed as distraction took over, his inexperienced pallet indiscriminate as he browsed the lines of recent videos. Interestingly enough there seemed to be a special on older videos from the archives. Ancient porn. Bumblebee snickered. He would have bet that this was the kind of stuff bots whirled their fans to back in Ratchet’s day, but he doubted Ratchet had gotten laid once in his life for the amount of time he spent grumbling.

To be fair, some of the videos were rather good, if you could stomach the cheesy music and attempt at some kind of plot before the real action. The acting was terrible at best, humorous enough, and Bumblebee managed to get a good laugh out of some of them before getting to the good stuff. While it was heating him up a bit he wasn’t quite there yet. Still, the evening was only just beginning and he had plenty of time to explore.

“ _Shinewax’s medical examination gets spicy_? Who the slag comes up with this junk?”

Though he knew Bulkhead was a roob, Bumblebee was almost regretting not having taken this up with his friend just so he could have someone to bounce his laughter off of. Moving onto the video, he folded his hands neatly under his chin, smile only getting wider as a bassy tune, distorted by time, filtered into his audio receptors.

The next shot, however, had him falling out of his seat in surprise, probably more loudly than he would have liked could he have controlled it.

Still red and white but slimmer than Bumblebee had ever seen him, Ratchet rubbed his fingers seductively up the thigh of a faux patient as they tried to work out a payment compromise for his checkup. As Bumblebee righted himself they began to kiss passionately, moaning in loud, fake tones. He was speechless. The mech on the screen was undoubtedly his comrade, younger, sleeker, but still clear through the telltale signs and motions of his character beneath the cheesy acting. He lifted himself onto the medical berth, spreading his legs and opening his panels in one clean movement.

This was way, way more than Bumblebee had bargained for. While admittedly this was some seriously brain breaking news, he was also starting to get intensely uncomfortable in ways he did not want to consider. Ratchet was old and cranky and gross and not this hot young model riding some bot’s spike like it was the best thing in the universe.

Yet, as he sat back in the console chair, he couldn’t seem to turn it off, or tear his optics away, or stop the suddenly heavy production of oral solvent that he swallowed thickly. Ratchet was just as commanding in the video as he was no, but his bossy nature seemed a lot more tolerable when he was ordering the newly introduced medical intern to add his spike alongside the patients in his slick valve, cherry bright in the high lighting and stretching with ease to accommodate them both.

Baffled, embarrassed not because of whom he was seeing but who he was being aroused by, Bumblebee looked around the room in one last ditch effort to retain his dignity and released his spike.

“That all ya’ got? I can take more!”

Despite the clunky dialogue Ratchet’s temper stood strong. The bots pumped into him, loud and wet, and Bumblebee did his best to match their movements with his own spike, glued to the screen. Compared to the smooth quality of the groups actions he was sloppy and without grace but he could hardly bring himself to care, licking his lips in fascination as he did his best not to think about exactly what he was doing and just enjoy himself. It was stupidly hot, in that way porn was when you allowed yourself to become so engrossed in the sights and sounds that you hardly noticed your hands working over your own equipment or the approach of your overload until was creeping down from your spark casing.

His fingers were shaking, lower lip trapped between his teeth so long it was beginning to feel raw. The moans from the screen reverberated through his headphones, and if his hands weren’t so busy plucking at his own valve lips and desperately tugging at his spike he would have rubbed his horns to even out the tension as multiple waves of information gathered too quickly inside his receptors.

“Kid? I’m glad you’re still up. I just wanted to say I’m sorry about how hard I was on you earlier and-”

Ratchet walked into the light of the monitors and stopped dead. Turning his helm slowly, almost hoping it was a wavelength ghost from his scrambled processor and not the real thing. Staring open mouthed at his own, younger face yawning in a moan on screen, Ratchet dropped his hands to his sides. Bumblebee gingerly withdrew his fingers from his valve and, slick with lubricant, waved.

“Uh, hey doc-bot. what’s up?”

It could have been easier if Ratchet’s reaction was fast and angry, like usual. If he had just grabbed something and tossed it Bumblebee would have known how to run, duck, laugh it off. Instead he was quiet, face slowly receding from gaping surprise to something hard and unreadable. Bumblebee swallowed thickly, taking his hand off his spike as well and flipping his headphones off his helm. He probably should have paused the video, but the damage was done.

“I, uh…”

“So, ya’ found out.”

Turning to him, the blank expression curled up into a smile. A smug, somewhat frightening smile. Bumblebee kneaded his dirty fingers together, scooting the chair back a little and trying to smile back.

“I know this isn’t technically monitor duty but I was keeping the other monitors on, see?”

Jumping up, he accidentally tore the headphone jack from its socket and the soft blush of moans filtered from the actual speakers. Ratchet actually laughed a little then, a sharp noise that crawled up Bumblebee’s back strut as he desperately attempted to close the site. He’d cracked ratchet. He was _so_ dead.

“But no I see that I’m done here and I should probably just be getting on to recharge if you don’t mind goodnight Ratchet!”

Skipping around the medic Bumblebee waved his hands about in some attempt at an explanation and almost leapt into the hall. Only he didn’t quite make it, because the clean snap of an electric field pulsing around him froze every limb, leaving him helpless to watch at Ratchet roped him back.

“Now, now, you don’t think I’m gonna let you off this one easy, do ya?”

Putting on his biggest smile and shiniest optical output, Bumblebee shrugged innocently.

“Maybe?”

Ratchet tisked, shaking his head slowly.

“Ah, to be young again.”

His grin sharpened.

“But you already got a pretty good idea of what that was like, didn’t you?”

He set Bumblebee down in the chair again, and when his magnets released him he was quick to grab Bee’s arm, preventing any further attempts at escape. Shifting his legs together, Bumblebee hung his head sheepishly, worsened yet by his still pressurized equipment. None of the manual releases were working and he couldn’t close any panels until everything was safely tucked away. Ratchet smirked down at him, tone almost paternal.

“Kid, experiencing the urge is nothing to be ashamed of. At your age it’s downright developmentally appropriate.”

Bumblebee perked, hoping to avoid a scolding.

“However,” his next word made him slump again, “taking time out to explore your urges during a very serious defensive procedure is in no way appropriate ever.”

“I was only curious,” Bumblebee wheedled, twiddling his thumbs.

“Curious my actuator. Don’t think this is the first time I’ve caught you.”

“What?”

That was news.

“Normally I don’t make a big fuss out of it because I know you aren’t so slag-headed as to ignore a real alarm,” he said, putting his hands on his hips, “but really, if there is one thing I can’t abide, it’s you thinking you can get away with not only watching porn during monitor duty but porn that is very near and dear to my spark.”

Bumblebee tried to swallow again and choked on his own solvent.

“S-so… what are you going to do with me?”

Ratchet’s optics darted lower. Bumblebee could feel them, like laser focus, tracing across the curve of his belly to his only slightly softened spike.

“Oh, I’ve got a few ideas.”

A shiver ran down Bumblebee’s back strut.

When Ratchet moved it was as though he was capable of teleportation, suddenly behind Bumblebee, hands raised menacingly. There was hardly enough time to squawk before he was held and restrained, trying to leap from the seat and ending up being pulled back into Ratchet’s chest.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Um, uh,” he couldn’t think of an excuse fast enough, to busy realizing these very hands were the ones he had watched wrap themselves around thick spikes on screen only kliks before. Ratchet, seemingly knowing his thoughts, chuckled and sat, pulling Bee with him into the desk chair. His lap was wide and Bumblebee settled uncomfortably into it, hoping his lack of struggle would make this run smoothly. It was too late to holler for Bulkhead and if Prime got involved – he could not even finish the thought without cringing in embarrassment. Ratchet was looking wicked this evening; he would surely tell Optimus everything. Bumblebee could live without his masturbatory exploits becoming common knowledge.

“Now, I don’t know exactly what you think is going to happen,” Ratchet started, attempting to maneuver Bee, who was too dumbstruck to assist and therefore dead weight, “but I know how to punish a wayward youngster or two. Back in my day they-”

Bumblebee as giving him a look of abject horror. Smirk returning full force, Ratchet tightened his grip around the young bot’s waist and flipped him across his lap, stomach braced on his pointy knees. Bumblebee slammed his hands over his mouth, yelping highly.

“Back in my day they knew how to show _real_ force.”

 Gulping, Bumblebee waved his arms and legs, trying to get balanced.

“Hey! This is embarrassing! Whatever you’re planning, can’t it, uh, wait for tomorrow?”

“What,” Ratchet purred, leaning in close so his breath tickled the back of Bumblebee’s neck, “you want to do this in front of everyone else?”

“N- do what?”

Sheer, unbridled terror.

“Oh Bumblebee.”

A hand caressed his aft. It was so soft and sweet a touch that he almost thought he’d imagined it. Jumping with a squeak, Bumblebee almost could not find his processor.

“I-!”

Just like that he was thrown forwards, one of Ratchet’s hands holding him in place while the other rose back up again. The blow came so suddenly that Bumblebee didn’t register it at first, to dazed, to confused, but then the second came, and the third, and a sharp sting blazed through his circuits.

Ratchet was spanking him.

“Wh- stop-!”

His hands were over his own mouth again the moment the words slipped out, too loud, shameful. Ratchet did not even hesitate, another harsh slap making Bumblebee buck up in an attempt to escape it. It didn’t help that his spike was rubbing Ratchet’s thigh, that the blows were dangerously close to his valve back. Too afraid to struggle much and too aroused to seriously consider getting help, he was trapped between the painfully well placed assault on his rump and the idea of not getting to see where this would end up. Stupid as it seemed, the video had made him curious. Very curious.

And, to be honest, stupid was something Bumblebee was really embracing right now.

“Losing your fight already?”

Ratchet slapped him again, eliciting a muffled yelp and a twitch but nothing more. Bee had stilled somewhat in his lap, knees shaking as he tried to brace himself, hands clasped tightly over his lips, but the struggle had calmed. He wouldn’t meet Ratchet’s gaze and the older bot knew he’d won permission to continue.

“That’s a good boy, take your medicine.”

Silly, frothy dialogue, just like in the data file. Bumblebee’s spike stiffened and Ratchet noticed. Hus next slap had Bee whining behind his hands, feet scuffling to brace on the ground. He wanted to keep some dignity make a quip about Ratchet’s speed compared to his age, but honestly, he was hardly able to do more than keep his voice down. Skilled in this as he was in medicine, Ratchet managed to vary the placement of the spanks just so, to keep the sensors on his aft from recovering quickly enough to realize that there wasn’t any real damage being done to them. Too much unpleasant stimulus too quickly left them scrambled and assuming that the attack on his backside as of a greater force than Ratchet’s mean fingers, burning brighter and hotter until Bumblebee could hardly even squeak anymore for the painful data cramming his processor.

In short, it was really starting to hurt. What was worse was that it wasn’t only hurting, the careful rubs and slides of Ratchet’s idle leg keeping him trapped in arousal.

“R-Ra-!”

He wanted to say something about it but there was no chance of words escaping normally. He was flushed and hot, the heat of the pain in his rear combined with the heat of his embarrassment and making everything boil. Another smack and he was dizzy, drool escaping the corner of his lips to muss his hands. Another and he was sure that wet drip was his own lubricant, beading at the fat lips of his valve. Another and he was gone.

Ratchet’s hand stilled a bit, rubbing his sore aft firmly, squeezing the lusher curve. His thumb strayed downwards and Bumblebee moaned brokenly as it brushed his valve. Ratchet had already seen him with his own fingers stuffed in there; there was no turning back now. To be honest, he was pretty pumped about that.

“Think you’ve learned your lesson, hmm?”

Still smug. Bumblebee tried to collect his tongue.

“Y-yeah, doc, yeah… oh…”

The thumb was sliding down in painfully slow stokes now, just barely kissing the cleft of his inlet, not quite touching his external node, which throbbed a bit in want. Ratchet’s other hand moved up from holding his back down and gave his rump another firm squeeze, stinging but also causing his calipers to clench and spread as his thumb did another pass over. His hands dropped away from his mouth, optics flickering lazily as they attempted to recalibrate.

“Ratchet, c’mon…” he shifted his hips but the squeezing hand smacked him again, holding him down.

“Ah-ah-ah! We do this how I say.”

Bumblebee, had he been in his right mind, would have complained, loudly, at being told by anyone that he had little to no control of a situation. However, Ratchet’s thumb was sliding back and forth again, the slick slide of his lubricants almost making the noise of it obscene, and his spike was still rubbing with every little twitch and buck of his hips, so instead of yowling like a cat he simply mewled. Ratchet pet his backside, pleased.

“Good boy.”

Slowly, too slowly, the tip of his thumb sank inside his valve, hot and tight as it grasped for more. Holding it there, his forefinger strayed up and began teasing his nub, too soft, ghostly. He strained to keep still, teeth clenched. Ratchet was clearly trying to kill him here.

“Okay,” he ground out, “okay, we’re playing your way, okay, okay, but please go a little faster, Ratchet, please?”

Imploring, whiny, he screwed his helm around and tried to use the glassy eyes again, but the angle made it hard and Ratchet was more than immune.

“If you keep asking I’m gonna start taking it even slower,” he huffed, pinching Bee’s node in a way that made him jump and squeal, “or I might just leave you to satisfy yourself. _Without_ the internet, I mean.”

Bumblebee kicked his heels a bit, wheels turning.

“Docbot…”

“Don’t ‘docbot’ me!”

The thumb began to withdraw. Clenching his thighs together uselessly, Bumblebee hiccupped a gasp.

“No, no, no! I’m sorry, I’ll stop interrupting!”

Ratchet paused a moment, snorting meanly.

“You’d better.”

The thumb plunged back in, all the way this time, stirring and curling. Bumblebee moaned again, wavering and cracking with embarrassing youth. The finger tapping his external node moved back to join it, awkwardly pressing its way inside. Bumblebee wriggled in desperate silence.

The fingers inside him scissored, suddenly and without mercy, and if he hadn’t been as ready as he was it might have hurt but Bumblebee was ready, so, terribly ready. His valve rippled and lubricants gushed but Ratchet took his time, turning this way and that, only adding a third finger (and replacing his thumb with another) when Bumblebee thought he might go absolutely mad. The other hand kept tenderly rubbing and patting his sore rump, Ratchet knowing full well how awfully it added to the sensational overload. Bumblebee began pushing his hips back, hoping it wasn’t too much for him, hoping he wouldn’t notice the trickle of prefluid that had leaked down his spike and was dribbling on the chair. Ratchet pushed his fingers in to the knuckle and stroked him until he was nearly sobbing with the unfairness of it all, lewd noises filling the dark room loudly enough that Bee was sure everyone in Detroit was savvy to how frighteningly good at fingering a bot the medic was.

“See, I wasn’t always old,” Ratchet stated, smiling quietly as Bumblebee groaned, “but being old means you’ve had more time to learn good tricks.”

His fingers quirked and Bumblebee jolted, stuffing his fingers in his mouth to keep from yelling.

“Tricks that make a young bot like you ashamed he’s had to learn from old video files, hm?”

He pumped his fingers in broad stroked and Bumblebee kicked the ground like an overexcited turbofox.

But, he did not beg. Ratchet pulled his fingers out, wiping them on the side of the chair.

“I suppose it’s time for a real lesson then.”

Bumblebee should probably have been used to being mechhandled by now, but he still yelped when Ratchet grasped his waist and flipped him again, this time upright in his lap. He gripped the hands around his waist and trembled, watching as Ratchet’s own spike slid out with a wet pop to rest between their legs.

Bumblebee stared at it, still drooling a bit.

“Hope you’re ready for this.”

He nodded a bit too fast and ended up nearly beaning ratchet in the jaw. In an attempt to protect his own face as well as get the ache out of his spark before the sun started to rise, Ratchet tightened his grip and pulled Bumblebee down on his plug without another word.

Ratchet added his own hand over Bumblebee’s mouth, and it was a good thing he did because the bot positively _howled._

“Keep- nn, keep it down or we’re gonna have to stop!”

Bumblebee’s valve felt exquisite. The fat lips had made the initial penetration slow but they held him with the perfect lushness, calipers not totally unused but weak in their attempts to fluxuate properly, a begging gesture that made his processor feel weak. Holding Bee still he reached down and pinched him a little, reveling in the squeeze that followed.

“Ain’t that cute.”

”cute or not cute I really don’t care right now Ratch, doc, really, please, just come on-!”

For once he decided to oblige his muffled begging. There were some things in life worth more than teasing the smirk off a mouthy bot’s face. Keeping his hand firmly over Bee’s mouth, Ratchet raised the little bot off him, grunting at the slick cling, and then pulled him back down with equal slowness. It was a good, steady rhythm, and even though he could feel in both the hatchback and himself a need for a stronger pace he couldn’t do all the work with one arm.

“Brace your feet and help me out, kid,” he huffed, “you’re too heavy.”

Bumblebee took a moment to even recognize he was being spoken too, optics glazed over and staring into the monitors. With a little wriggling that made them both shudder he managed to plant his boots on the floor, the moment awkward as they tried to synchronize their movements.

“No, not- slow down, Bee, I’m trying to catch up.”

“Speak for yourself! I’m _this close_ to…”

“Shut up and shape up!”

 “I’m trying!”

With a great growl, Ratchet slammed his hips upward and Bumblebee keened loudly, biting his hand. _That was it._

“Oh slag keep going!”

“What does it look like I’m doing?”

Using both hands he pounded into Bumblebee, well aware he was transferring paint he’d have to buff off, that Bumblebee’s round aft was rubbing into his stomach, that he was making a mess of everything in the command chair that he would have to clean up later. He could not have cared less. Using every ounce of force left in his frame Ratchet rammed him, letting the kid figure out how to shut himself up on his own time. This was the final round.

Bumblebee bounced up and down with very little control over his own frame. He scratched at Ratchet’s hands and legs and pistoned up with his toes, barely caring if he had the rhythm right or the sound level low enough because as long as they kept moving, as long as Ratchet’s spike kept rubbing every single node around the entrance in just the right way with its absolutely perfect grooving, he was content to let the medic do whatever the hell he wanted. Wrapping a hand loosely around his own spike he began to jerk it sloppily, thumbing his node when he could, eager for the overload approaching as he had never been eager in his life before.

It was not commented upon by either party when their overloads came swiftly. Ratchet was old and Bumblebee was young and they were both far more geared up by the foreplay than they had expected to be. Ratchet gasped, a shuddering, surprised noise, holding Bumblebee down on himself and rocking back and forth as his overload took him, resting his chin on Bee’s shoulder. For his part Bumblebee worked himself faster, moaning in soft, disjointed bursts. The twisting inside him was perfect, perfect for this, because Ratchet’s spike was fatter than it was long and the front part of his valve was more sensitive anyways, everything being rubbed in the most perfect, tender manner, and before ratchet had even finished cumming Bumblebee was slipping down that slope after him, thin ropes of transfluid painting his belly.

The moment after was colored by the slow realization that they had really messed up the desk.

“So…”

“You’re cleanin' that up, kid.”

Ratchet sat back, accidentally tugging Bee with him as his spike had yet to withdraw and making them both hiss.

“I’m not even supposed to be awake.”

“It’s only, like three am! You can at least help me!”

Giving him and incredulous look, ratchet closed his optics, crossing his hands over his stomach.

“I’m just gonna pretend I didn’t hear that and wait for you to finish.”

His spike slid back into its housing and Bumblebee slipped off his lap and onto his knees on the floor.

“Ow!”

“Keep it down.”

As Bumblebee pulled out a rag from his subspace, grimacing at the cooling spunk on his thighs, he thought he heard a quiet laugh from behind him and gave ratchet another glare.

“Oh, hush you.”

One optic was on his aft, lazily appreciating the view.

“Or I might have to punish you again.”

Bumblebee was almost tempted to make him.


End file.
